


Distract

by townshend



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-13
Updated: 2011-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-16 22:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/townshend/pseuds/townshend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apparently, the idea that he shouldn't just let himself in doesn't exactly occur to Nathan. (AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distract

They were tossing on the bed, Peter's breath coming out in hot bursts against the skin of Sylar's neck. Sylar's hands searched across Peter's skin, under his shirt, trailing against his stomach, fingernails clawing down his back. Peter pushed against the man, his erection apparent through his kakhis, and Sylar sort of laughed, a half-chuckle under his breath, straight into Peter's ear. Peter shuddered, hard, gripping the cloth of Sylar's black sweater, holding on for dear life.

How exactly had this started? Peter was trying to make _tea_ , because Sylar liked tea, and he'd been messing with his coffee maker trying to clean out the grinds. His hands had been shaking -- he was feeling so _worked up_ , they'd just come from the streets of New York City and there was a protest going on today, and with Peter's empathy in full-force he'd wanted to join in, wanted to grab a sign and turn the hardly-peaceful feeling protest into a full-out-riot. The air was thick with discord, and whether Peter agreed with the cause didn't matter when there were so many people there with such strong emotion that it wrapped him up and carried him away. Sylar had noticed the fire building in Peter's eyes, the way his hands were clenching into fists, and he'd hurried Peter up into the building. Tea, he said, was relaxing, and Peter was trying his best to calm down and make it, but as he was turning to rinse out the brew pot, he'd dropped it. The glass had shattered all over the kitchen floor, and Peter cursed, _loudly_ , a screamed out _"Fuck!"_ as he slid to the kitchen floor on his knees, grabbing the bigger pieces of glass and throwing them at the wall opposite, shattering them into smaller bits.

Sylar was in the kitchen, quick, grabbing up Peter, holding him tight, rushing him into the bedroom to calm him down. There was no point in trying to clean the wounds -- they would heal themselves, but Sylar's hands moved across Peter's skin, pulling out shards of glass as he found them, tossing them into a small bowl on Peter's night stand. Peter shook the whole time, fingers clutching Sylar's sweater, tossing and turning. Soon, all the glass was gone, and Sylar was touching just for the sake of touching -- and Peter seemed to register the way he was feeling, his gaze turning up to the man in slight wonder. Impulsively, Peter's lips pushed against the other man's, and from there, it was all hurried breathing and kissing and touching, Sylar's nails running across Peter's skin, leaving red streaks in their wake that turned back to healthy peach within seconds. How frustrating, that Sylar couldn't even leave a proper mark.

"I felt it," Peter gasped, "the feelings of those protesters, I couldn't stop it, I wanted to... I wanted to hurt someone..."

"I know," Sylar said. A part of him wished Peter would shut up, but he'd always been a little wordy. "I know you did, I could see it in your eyes."

Peter closed those, quickly, as if worried he was too easy to read (which he was), or that they would give something away about him. Peter had never struck Sylar as a secretive type. Was there something Sylar possibly didn't know about him? How _interesting_.

With renewed vigor, Sylar pulled Peter into another kiss, stopping only long enough to pull Peter's t-shirt off and toss it to the floor. Peter didn't protest, pulling hard on Sylar's sweater, and Sylar was quick to pull away from Peter's hands before he could rip it off. He _liked_ that sweater, and he wasn't going to lose it to Peter Petrelli. He discarded it on his own, a little slower than he normally would. He could feel Peter's impatience, thick in the air -- he didn't have to be empathic to sense that.

Peter's eyes were on his chest, trailing down his stomach, his breathing coming in sharp, quick breaths. Sylar wondered if Peter would even have the guts to take this all the way. Then again, the empathy might wrap him up so entirely in the moment that Peter wouldn't even realize what was happening until it was too late. Sylar could live with that, too.

He pulled Peter close, again, one hand in his hair, the other trailing down the man's side, massaging the hardened cock through his pants. Peter gasped in Sylar's mouth, pushing hips up to meet the man's hand, so entirely _willing_ that it was definitely turning Sylar on. His mouth moved down Peter's neck, sucking the skin there, thinking fondly on the bruises he could leave that would never really stay.

"You're awfully needy, Peter," he whispered, hot breath heating up the spit he'd left across Peter's neck. "When's the last time you got something like this? Weeks? Months? _Ever_?"

Peter moaned, slightly, his hands going to the waistband of Sylar's jeans, fumbling to get to the belt buckle. Sylar only laughed.

"You," Peter gasped, each word coming out individually between breaths, "have no... idea... about my... sex li--" The last word dissolved into a moan before it could be finished. Sylar smirked.

"I think I have a better idea than you know," he murmured. "I know _plenty_ about you, Peter. Almost _everything_. Nothing could surprise me, not really. I think I've already figured out just how you work..." As he spoke, his hands moved to pull Peter's pants and boxers off, fiercely, taking only a moment to admire the skin he'd just freed before his fingertips rubbed against Peter's hips, teasing, thumb tracing circles against the place where Peter's hip bone jutted out.

Between Sylar's whisperings and Peter's gasps for breath, neither of them heard the door unlocking and opening, a man stepping into the apartment proper. He peeked into the kitchen from the entryway, saw the mess of glass, and quickly pulled off his jacket, hanging it over the back of the couch, before turning to head towards the bedroom. What in the world had Peter gotten himself into this time...?

"There is," Peter gasped, " _plenty_ you don't know about me." His hands clenched Sylar's skin now that the sweater was gone, fingers gripping tight to Sylar's sides, just above his waist.

"Don't tempt me, Peter," Sylar warned, pushing the man flat on his back against the mattress. "We both know what will happen if you do."

The man rounded on the door, stopping suddenly in the door frame, watching the two, not yet aware of his presence, in the room beyond. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, not sure exactly what he should do, before he relaxed against the frame, deciding, if he was there, he may as well watch. After all, if he turned to leave, he could be heard, and that would ruin the fun for all parties involved, wouldn't it? Besides, he had come for a reason, though that reason was temporarily completely removed from his brain as he watched the two push against each other, listened to the sounds of Peter's moans that he knew so well as he fought to pull Sylar's pants off, and if this was a situation he was surprised to see he made no indication of it as he leaned against the door frame, one leg crossed casually over the other, watching, waiting for the two to be finished with their business.

Peter managed to successfully pull Sylar's pants off, and as he leaned to toss them in the pile with the rest of the discarded clothing, he noticed something darkening his doorway, and stopped, suddenly, his eyes widening--

"J-Jesus, Nathan!" he cried, the heartbeat that had been building ever since Sylar touched him stopping suddenly, momentarily. Peter wished he could die.

"Hiya, Pete," Nathan said, raising a hand. He nodded to Sylar, who looked up at him, his eyes shooting daggers towards the man.

Peter rolled out of the bed, retreating into the adjoining bathroom for only a moment. When he emerged, he had a towel wrapped around his waist, holding in place at the back. He moved quickly towards the doorway, pushing Nathan out into the living room with his free hand, using telekinesis to shut the door fast behind him. For a moment, he stared at Nathan, glare returning the smug smirk, having no real idea what to say.

Finally: "What the _hell_?!" he cried.

"I didn't want to interrupt," Nathan said, as if he'd come across the two men having lunch or a business meeting or a study session or _anything_ else. The casual tone in Nathan's voice only made Peter's anger rise.

" _Interrupt_?!" Peter cried. " _Interrupt!_ Nathan, you--!" Peter fumed for a moment, his brain in fifty different places, no clue which direction to go in, too _angry_ to even think about what to say.

"I walked in on you and Sylar having sex," Nathan finished, helpfully.

"Don't be _funny_ with me!" Peter cried. His volume was about fifty times higher than Nathan's, which was too quiet to really hear from the room beyond. Sylar was able to adjust his hearing to listen to Nathan, but everytime Peter would cut in, he thought his eardrums would burst, and so he settled instead on not trying to adjust his hearing, just listening to the murmurs of Nathan's voice and Peter's screaming that Sylar was sure all the neighbors could hear, too.

"I wasn't aware I was being funny," Nathan said, softly. "You know what I find funny, Pete?"

"Don't start, Nathan," Peter warned.

"I find it funny," Nathan continued, as if uninterrupted, "that I would come in your apartment after you _gave me the key_ , after you _specifically invited me over_ today, and find this. Almost as if you wanted me to find you, Peter. Or did you _forget_?"

Peter's jaw dropped slowly with each word, horrified.

"I... I gave you that key months ago! You... you're still supposed to _knock_ before waltzing into somebody's apartment!" His free hand went into his hair, gripping it, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I think," Nathan began, "you _wanted_ me to find you like this. You wanted me to see that you're not just mine." His voice was a whisper. He grabbed Peter's arm, hand still in his hair, and pulled the man towards him, sharply. "So, you want me to see? Then I'll see. I'll watch it all."

"You... no... Nathan, you can't..." Peter stared up at him, his heart pounding once more. "This is crazy, Nathan..."

"Get back in there and finish, Pete," Nathan said, firmly. "Or are you going to leave him _wanting_ you so badly?"

Peter's knees felt weak. He stood there a moment, a little longer than Nathan thought he should, before he slowly turned, stiffly walking back into the bedroom. He threw the door open, staring at Sylar, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching Peter carefully.

Nathan was right behind him, taking up his space in the doorframe.

"Sorry about that," he said, watching Sylar carefully. "Peter and I are done talking now. He was going to get back to what he was doing." Clapping Peter on the shoulder, Nathan smiled. "Isn't that right, Pete?"

Peter didn't say anything, his jaw set. Sylar looked back and forth between the two before a sort of wild smile spread across his cheeks.

" _Oh_ ," he said, slowly. "I see. How _interesting_."

Nathan pushed Peter forward, and with his lead Peter slowly stumbled towards the bed, towards Sylar.

 _I'm so sorry,_ he said, and it was the first time he'd ever used Parkman's power to send a thought into someone's head that wasn't a command. Sylar seemed to get it, though. There was no facial reaction, but Peter could hear the returned thought: _Oh, don't worry. He's just angry I'm making him jealous, that's all._

Sylar's hand moved to pull the towel Peter was still holding up off, tossing it aside, and he had Peter back in the bed and on his back before Peter registered what was happening.

"Does it change the fact that you want me, if he's watching, Peter?" Sylar asked.

"Of... of course not," Peter answered, quiet, trying to keep the words from Nathan's ears.

"Of course not," Sylar repeated, and he claimed Peter's mouth in a hard kiss he hoped Nathan was watching every detail of. Peter was _his_ , now, and any chance he got to demonstrate that was a chance he wouldn't mind taking at all.

Besides, it was so very intriguing to see a part of this family he hadn't known before. Maybe Peter was right -- maybe there were things he still had to figure out before he knew _everything_.


End file.
